Waiting and Searching
by Dark Angel 13388
Summary: She's waiting for him. He's looking for her. Ichi/Hime Heuco Mundo arc.


Author's Note: Making this quick. I might continue it, but I lost interest where I stopped so who knows. Kinda just doing my own thing with that Hueco Mundo/Orihime arc. Ichi/Hime

Waiting and Searching

The girl shivered beneath the weight of the darkness surrounding her. Darkness was heavy here, not like it was at home. And it was always dark. Still, she persevered because she knew he was coming for her. And so she would wait for him, however long it took. She rested her head in her hands and resisted the urge to sigh, her grey eyes trailing up the only streak of light peircing the blackness she was growing used to. She followed its path to the long window, the eternal moon framed perfectly within its rectangular shape. A draft came through the crack in the door, making her orange hair waiver slightly about her shoulders as she stood to pace the room.

'Only a little longer,' she thought, hearing only the sound of her feet scuffing against the cold floor as she moved slowly, 'I know he'll come for me. He'll save me.'

--

Too vast, this strange, deserted place. With its grey-black surroundings and beige sand stretching out endlessly around him, it was hard for him to imagine there being anything worth fighting for as he approached the colorless, stone walls. But now that he was inside, and seemingly lost from her companions, he found himself wandering the empty hallways for what seemed like hours, the sound of his own heartbeat reverberating in his head from exhaustion. When had he last sat down? Stopped walking? Searching? He tried retracing his steps, wandering backwards in his own mind, trying to remember whatever it was he was searching for but he found his thoughts in such a jumble that he admitted defeat.

His head hurt.

Reaching up to touch his forehead, his fingers fell upon something remotely sticky as the sensation of being touched sent a wave of pain across his skull. Moving his hand away quickly with a wince, his brown eyes picked up the trace of maroon on his fingers. Drying blood, he would have known it without the visual assurance but had felt the need to verify his suspicions regardless. He couldn't remember where he recieved the wound--if he'd simply hit it while wandering these halls and just continued unknowingly, unaware that the event had ever occured or if some sort of skirmish had been the culprit. He knew though, or rather his body knew, he was searching for something and it unwillingly had pulled him along down these endless hallways. That's why he was here, utterly alone in semi-darkness with only his own deteriorating thoughts as company. He knew all this now, after coming to his senses when that rush of pain consumed his head, its sharp, pressing jolt bringing him back to himself.

He turned a corner, his body suddenly feeling very strange, his head spinning and this dark prickling ring encircling his vision like tiny tendrils. He reached his arm out to steady himself, using the cold wall as support, his legs feeling detached from his body and yet trudging forward nonetheless. Whatever it was he was searching for in this endless maze, whether or not he knew what it was, he was going to find it.

--

Growing bored with her pacing, the girl made her way back over the the solitary couch that had been placed in the mostly unfurnished room. She flopped down on it, its soft, enveloping cushions being of little comfort to her in a place made up of such bleakness and endless waiting. She had wanted to cry at that moment, bury her head in her soft hands and let the tears fall then, creating dark splotches where they would inevitably land on her clothes as she shook inconsolably. And yet, she refused to let them see her in such a state, vulnerable and alone while convulsing with each ragged, tear-strained breath. No, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. And most of all, she knew if she let even one tear fall, even allow herself to grow misty eyed that would be the end of her sanity here.

So she would wait. She would hold out on the dim hope that he was still alive and still coming to bring her home. She had played out the situation in her mind many times. One time she had even imagined him heroicly throwing himself in the line of fire for her, and another time she had imagined him coming in through the ceiling (the ceiling had seemed most appropriate to her), his brown eyes wild with rage as he saved her from her captors. That silly, small shard of hope remained her dearest belonging in these days that were filled with munotany and silence. So she remained sitting, her eyes fixated on the slice of the outside world she could see through her window, and imagined he was thinking of her.

--

He had almost remembered.

He saw her sitting by him, in another place, one with color and noise, its vibrancy a stark contrast against this new world he was in. She was smiling at him, her hands almost flailing as she gestured and began to stand up to leave. She had a kind voice, full of something comforting he couldn't quite put words to and yet, her face was still hazy.

"M'hm," he grunted as he watched her brush of her grey, pleated skirt somewhat nervously. He would have smiled, but he found he didn't do much smiling after his mother died. Instead his brow had grown furrowed and he tried to be indifferent, yet he cared about people all the same. He sideways glanced at the girl as she began to walk away, her orange hair falling and rising with each gust of wind that whipped through the vacated courtyard they had been sitting in. She stopped suddenly and turned to face him.

"Tatsuki-chan told me a story today, Kurosaki-kun. It was about a poor, little bird, who loved its mother very much. So much, it didn't want to leave its mother and learn to fly like its brothers and sisters, but he would sing beautiful songs" she stated, her voice sounding distressed. It almost pained him to hear that kind voice sound so sad. She continued, "So, the mother bird kept looking after her baby bird because she loved it very much. But one day, the mother bird went out to get food for the baby bird and never came home. The baby bird stopped singing in his mourning, and the baby bird's friend felt very, very sad that no one else would ever hear its beautiful singing ever again because you know, his friend cared about him very much. More than he knew."

She paused then, fummbling awkwardly with the hem of her skirt. He stared at her, unsure of what relevance this story she was telling had to anything. Her silly ramblings were familiar to him though, and so he nodded his head to urge the girl to continue.

"...A-and so, Kurosaki-kun," she began, stumbling over her words, "I think you should smile more, okay?" She flashed a radiant smile in his direction and he felt his stomach twitch a bit at the sight of it. A weird feeling he hadn't quite felt before. He wasn't sure what it was but it was very new and very sudden. Not a bad feeling, almost like something was welling up and going to burst from inside him. All brought on by this rambling girl, with her orange hair and strange, irrelevant requests.

And then he couldn't remember anymore.

But he knew he was searching for that kind voice, and that awkward girl with the story about the baby bird so he forced himself to continue down the hall even though his body was doing little more than following the demands he was placing upon it. His legs were numb to him, just continually moving one in front of the other to make his way forward, back to her

He had reached what appeared to be the end of the corridor, although he couldn't be quite sure as things weren't always what they seemed in places like this. Inching his way forward he noticed a door ajar to his right. He found it odd, all the doors he'd come past this far had been shut tight. He stopped his walking, hearing only the sound of his ragged breath as he narrowed his gaze towards the door's opening. He was hesistant to just barge in, imagining an open door could only be a trap.

Author's Note:

I find it kind of difficult to write Ichigo, if only because I want to make it ridiculous fluff, but I get the feeling even if he did think about a girl that way he wouldn't realize it.


End file.
